


Something to Forget

by Josselin



Series: Something to Remember [2]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-10-19
Updated: 2003-10-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 17:02:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1518347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josselin/pseuds/Josselin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to "Something to Remember," in which Brian tells Justin the truth, and buys him a ring, and they live happily ever after.  No, really.  ::giant grin::</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something to Forget

**Author's Note:**

> Because y'all wanted a sequel *so* badly. And I am just nice, and sweet, and obliging, and not at all evil.
> 
> Thanks to [](http://soundczech.livejournal.com/profile)[**soundczech**](http://soundczech.livejournal.com/) for encouragement and supplying all the best lines, as usual.

Finally, on a Thursday, Brian tells Justin the truth.  The weird part is they weren't even fighting at the time--Justin was cooking dinner in the kitchen and Brian was ostensibly working at his computer but really watching Justin cook. And there was just something resigned in the way Justin moved, in the sort of halfhearted way he measured flour and butter for some stupid fucking biscuits that Brian would eat even though it was after seven, and it was the biscuits that pushed Brian over the edge.

Brian stands up quickly, leaving his computer chair spinning around slowly in his wake, and went over to the kitchen.  He leans one hand on the counter, rubs his forehead with the other hand, and says, "You know, your fiddler wasn't as perfect as you make him out to be."

Justin calmly takes an oven mitt out of the drawer and puts his tray of biscuits into the oven.

The lack of reaction only makes Brian angrier, so he continues.  "I saw him making out with another guy in a concert hall restroom."

Justin turns around to face him.  "Oh?" Justin acts as if this is the least interesting thing he's ever heard.

Brian wonders if they have any JB left or if he's going to have to break into the vodka.  "He was fucking cheating on you, Sunshine.  How do you feel about that?"

Justin kind of shrugs, and washes off his hands, heading over to his computer.

Brian follows him across the loft.  "Well?"  He asks belligerently.

Justin looks up from the start-up screen on his computer.  "What do you want me to say, Brian?"

"Anything!"  Brian shouts, and then he curses, and turns on his heel to go find some liquor.

"I don't have anything to say," Justin says, without taking his eyes away from the computer screen.

Brian digs an unopened bottle of whiskey out of the cabinet.  "Yeah, that's because you're just as much of a corpse as your fucking cheating boyfriend."

Justin looks up at that.  "Are you referring to Ethan, or you?"

Brian stood up with the bottle and held his arms out at his sides.  "Well, which one of us is decomposing in the frozen ground right now, huh?"

"If you mean that literally," Justin says--with just a tinge of literary smugness that Brian can't stand, especially when he's wearing a wifebeater and holding a freshly opened bottle of whiskey--"then it would be him, of course. It must have been the 'fucking cheating' part that tripped me up."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"  Brian says, furiously.

Finally, Justin stands up out of his chair.  "There's only one fucking cheater that I know of," Justin says.

"Yeah," Brian returns, "and it's you.  Mr. I'm-too-good-to-keep-my-own-rules." Justin flinches ever so slightly, but Brian notices, and he begins to feel better.  He takes another swig of whiskey.  "But I shouldn't  blame you too much," Brian continues, "you were probably coerced by the little musician.  Did he weave a little spell over you?  Promise you that cheating was okay as long as you invoked the name of the true god of romance?"  Brian asks mockingly.

Justin raises his chin defensively.  "Ethan believed in love.  And he loved me."

"How the fuck do you know that?"

"Because he told me so," Justin says stubbornly.  "And I believe him."

"Uh huh," Brian says, rubbing his forehead again.  "I bet he told you he believed in monogamy, too, but maybe public restrooms don't count.  And I bet he told you that you'd be together forever--" Brian pauses for a moment.  "And look how that turned out."

Justin stalks over to stand directly in front of Brian, so close, that Brian was sure Justin could smell the alcohol on his breath.  "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Brian," Justin says acidly.  "And I don't know how you think that making up petty stories about Ethan cheating is going to make me feel any better when I next come home to find a trick in our bed, but I don't fucking want to listen to it anymore.  So shut up, or get out."

Brian gets out.  And he forgets his jacket but he takes the whiskey with him.

* * *

At the bar, Brian gets really fucking drunk. And when Brian is so drunk that common sense is a distant memory, and the Kinney code of conduct is merely a blip on the horizon, he empties out his right pocket onto the bar counter. He brushes the three condom packets off to the side, and stares at the ring he bought three weeks ago. It's just a small platinum circle.

He picks it up and holds it up to his eye, as though staring through it will suddenly bring the universe into focus or something, but nothing happens except he starts to get dizzy. So he sets the ring down on the bar again, and stares at it that way.

He doesn't bothering trying it on his own finger--he's tried that before and it doesn't fit, because this ring, unlike the fiddler's ridiculous dime-store attempt, is actually sized to fit Justin's ring finger, so of course it only fits around Brian's pinky. And when the ring goes on Justin's finger, Brian imagines, it will fit snugly and securely, unlike the fiddler's ring, which is too big, and ill-fitting, and spins around on Justin's finger and slides around between his palm and his knuckle.

So he stares at the ring, and then he looks at his watch, and then he grabs a jacket off the stool next to him, ignoring some poor fucker's complaints of, "Hey, that's my jacket!" and walks out the door.

* * *

When he gets back to the loft at exactly 2:58, he realizes after some consternation that the keys in his jacket pocket do not actually work with the keyhole on his door. Because of course, this is not his jacket.

So he does what any reasonable drunken person would do in the middle of the night. He bangs on the door. And yells. Loudly.

It takes a lot of banging--and the neighbors joining in the yelling, and some cats yowling outside--before Justin comes to open the door, and even then, Justin doesn't exactly *open* the door, per se, Brian just hears the click of the lock being undone and then Justin's footsteps padding away.

So Brian slides open the door, and marches over to where Justin is heading back to bed and grabs his arm. He tugs Justin around to make him face the counter, and then he takes the ring out of his pocket and slams it down on the counter. Justin blinks sleepily.

"There. That's what you fucking wanted, isn't it?" Brian says, gesturing towards the ring.

Justin looks at the ring, and turns around towards the steps.

"I gave you what you fucking wanted!" Brian shouts angrily.

Justin doesn't turn around. "I don't want it."

Brian bites his lip. "Well then, what the fuck *do* you want?"

Justin goes up the steps. Brian follows him, and grabs his shoulders and spins him around. "Fucking tell me what you want!"

"No!" Justin shouts, and now a tear drips down his cheek. "Because you can't give it to me, Brian," Justin says defeatedly. "Because no matter how much you think you're God, no matter how much *I* think you're God," Justin gestures wildly with his arms, "you're not, okay?" Justin pauses for a second. "And no one can give me what I want."

* * *

So it seems, that night, that Brian's last ditch attempt to reclaim Justin with the ring failed. And in the morning, Justin's still icy and quiet, and Brian's still really, really hungover.

But as the days go by, sometimes Justin rolls over in the middle of the night, and it's nice to see his face instead of the cold line of his back all the time. And one afternoon, Justin plays the whole violin cd without crying. One evening, Brian comes home from work, and it's Massive Attack on the stereo, bass drum beat thumping hard and electronic. He feels a wave of relief that there are no more fucking violins, but Justin just stares at him blankly.

Later, one morning in the diner, when Justin's pouring him a cup of coffee, Brian really looks at him, in the way you don't usually look at people you live with and see all the time, and he realizes that Justin looks--not happy, exactly, but not as sad as he's looked for a long time, either. And when Justin comes back to refill his cup, he notices that the ring on Justin's finger fits perfectly, and he wonders how long Justin's been wearing that.

And then finally, Brian woke up one morning, and Ethan was gone. He wasn't with them while Justin made breakfast, while they stared at one another over coffee. He wasn't with them when Justin dropped to his knees in the shower, and he wasn't with them when Brian cried out as he came.

Ethan still reappeared occasionally, on anniversaries, or when Justin saw a certain color scarf at the store, or when he smelled--of all things--mandarin oranges, and Brian's not even going to *ask* about that one. But when they visit Ethan's grave this time, Brian's actually convinced that the fucker's in there. And that's good enough for him.

THE END


End file.
